


I Will Survive

by raging_fire



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Hurt, Nesta Archeron/Cassian Fluff, Rape Recovery, nesta is a mess and so is cassian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 08:36:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17577491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raging_fire/pseuds/raging_fire
Summary: Nesta is abused by an Illyrian war-lord, which sets her on a path of seclusion and continuous nightmares. Fearing any sort of physical interaction and barely talking to anyone, she shuts herself in the House of Wind, where she relieves the experience over and over again.Months after the incident, Cassian can't take it anymore and against Feyre's warnings, he visits Nesta.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning: rape

_Clipped wings, I was a broken thing_  
_Had a voice, had a voice but I could not sing_  
_You would wind me down_  
_I struggled on the ground, oh_  
_So lost, the line had been crossed_  
_Had a voice, had a voice but I could not talk_  
_You held me down_  
_I struggle to fly now_

 

 

Every second of her life was like walking on seashells. Gods knew how many cuts she already had.

It wasn't the life Nesta thought she'd live, far away from her hometown, surrounded by the very creatures she was brainwashed into hating -- although many of them proved to be the opposite of what the humans described them to be like -- and not knowing where she fit into this grand tapestry of life. Always there, always watching, always listening, never participating. Not a fabulous way of living, but it had been enough for a time. It offered her enough space to sort things out on her own.

A short period of time.

Nesta fidgeted with the hem of her blue tunic as she watched the sun set over the City of Starlight. A quiet evening, with everyone out on their own errands, the town preoccupied with the Summer Solstice preparations (mostly because Tarquin and his entourage would soon visit them and of course Rhysand wanted to put up a show) and no one around to nag her. She had plenty of that.

She pulled the sleeves of her tunic down, covering her hands, and hugged her knees close to her chest. Watching the sunset from the balcony of the House of Wind was one of the few things that managed to pull her out from a state of utter despair and isolation; that, along with reading until her eyes bled. It seemed like a good way to distract herself.

But distracting herself only went so far. At some point, Nesta had to face what happened almost half a year ago and come to terms with it; with what had been done to her.

She shuddered, partially because of the crisp air, partially because of the cruel memories resurfacing. Sometimes it felt like it had happened only a few days ago, other times a lifetime ago. It hurt nonetheless.

It had been Nesta's third visit to one Illyrian war camp, a particularly nasty one with little to no regard of the laws or Cassian and Azriel's position in the Night Court. They lived by their own little code, retreated deep in the mountains, which gave them the impression that they could do whatever they wished and the High Lord and Lady would overlook them.

How wrong they were.

Rumours of their cruelty towards the females, weaker boys, invalids and those who simply didn't fit in or comply to their way of living spread like wildfire. Months after the war with Hybern, and yet they still had to put an end to the disruption in their own lands. Besides the traditional (and horrific) wing-clipping, it seemed that the males retorted to other ways of punishment, such as flogging, brutal beatings in front of everyone, endless hours of working in harsh conditions and verbally humiliating them. The females, especially the young and pretty ones, got the worst of it. Even the thought of it had made Nesta shudder at the time, so she decided to go there and give them a piece of her mind.

And she did. Thoroughly, making sure they all heard her loud and clear, looking each and every one of them in the eye and promising them such delightful deaths that even the gods would squirm. They had taken it all in, not daring to talk back. Nesta thought it was because of her position in the Night Court, of who her younger sister was.

They didn't give a shit about that. They just waited; their leader, a bulky man with endless scars and a hard face, watched her with a satisfactory smirk.

Nesta left not long after that.

The second time, she came in tow with Mor, who broke a few (dozens) bones and threatened to level their insignificant camp if they didn't put an end to their way of living. No one did or said anything, although Nesta could sense just how much they wanted to rip Mor's head from her shoulders. Their leader, the bulky man whose name was Elian, only watched the scene unfold with lazy amusement and then focused all of his attention on Nesta, not even bothering to hide it. It was difficult to understand if it was lust or violence in those dark, depthless eyes; perhaps both. When Nesta had enough of his ogling, she told him that she'd gladly pluck his eyes out and feed them to the crows.

His only reply was a bark of laugh and a shake of his head, as if he knew better than that.

The third time Nesta visited that blasted camp, it was a few weeks after the Winter Solstice, when she offered to go to the most remote war camps and bring in supplies. Mor, the one who winnowed her from place to place, returned to Velaris to get the next shipment while Nesta attended to the injured, giving the camp lord exactly what he wanted.

An open window.

Busy with all the injured young Illyrians and abused females, Nesta didn't even blink when a trembling servant brought her a glass of water, which she only drank because her throat burned from screaming so much at the males in that damned camp. As usual, their lord didn't interfere; he just watched from a distance, eyes shining with endless amusement.

That amusement only flared when Nesta became dizzy, losing all sense of her body and movements.

That's the window the camp lord, Elian, was waiting for.

He made the most of it.

No one, not even the injured Illyrians she had been treating dared to interfere as Elian grabbed Nesta by the arm and dragged her into his own tent.

What followed still gave her nightmares. So many mornings when she woke up screaming in dread, not knowing where she was or if she really was alone; so many embarrassing moments when her sisters offered to sleep with her, only so she could get a few hours of sleep.

The water was laced with a poison meant to incapacitate her. Not enough to kill her; just to make her all compliant and dizzy. Half groggy and barely able to stand on her own feet, Nesta could do nothing as Elian forcefully pulled her in his tent, took one assessing look at her, and pushed her onto his bed.

Nesta closed her eyes, replaying that horrible scene over and over again in her mind. His hands, calloused and greedy, running up and down her shaking body. His deep laugh when she attempted to scream or fight back, only to discover that she was completely and utterly powerless. His heavy body pressing onto hers, his lips on her bare skin, how he smirked when he ripped her clothes off.

How much she wanted to die when he pulled off his pants and did to her exactly what he did to so many females in that camp.

Nesta had no power to lift a finger, let alone conjure her power. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that could prevent him from turning her around, pushing her back down until she could no longer breathe properly, and have his way with her.

Darkness crept from the corner of her vision as pain erupted throughout her body. Pain, searing and unending, as he grabbed her hair and pulled tightly, telling her who was in charge there, that she was nothing, no one, only a bitch with no power or control.

And she had none.

Never had she felt so utterly powerless and degraded. So small and broken. Eyed like a piece of meat. The fear inside her only grew until she was shaking from it, wondering if she would even get out of there alive; if she'd want to.

The burning between her thighs, her silent tears and the speed of his movements brought Nesta to the brink of blacking out. She wanted to die, to escape this, escape that pain and the feeling of his hands touching every exposed and vulnerable part of her. The irony that she barely escaped from the hands of a human boy only to fall in those of an Illyrian brute was enough to make her whimper on that bed.

The sounds he made, the brutality of his grip and the things he whispered in her ear while he moved inside her were enough to knock some sense into her, because before he made to switch her position, Nesta eyed a glinting hilt under one of the pillows.

With a shaking hand and a cry on her lips, Nesta grabbed the dagger and blindly stabbed behind her.

Her aim was true.

The scream and curse were enough to make him stop and pull back, making Nesta bite her lips from the agonising pain as she dragged herself further from him.

Blood. There was so much blood on the bed, on her half naked body, on the stabbed Illyrian cursing as he tried to take out the dagger from his side. Which one was hers?

Nesta didn't waste any precious seconds. She grabbed her discarder cloak, rose from the bed on unsteady feet and made a run from it. She couldn't recall how she managed to do that; probably her survival instincts kicked in and her body focused only on escaping. The drug was starting to wear off, and once she was outside and the other warriors noticed her and started to approach, Nesta did the only thing she could do.

She called for aid.

It was a spell Amren taught her; how to send for someone in times of great peril. She never needed to use it before, but now that she did, Nesta wondered if it would work. Backing away step by step as the warriors circled her, probably scenting what had been done to her and grinning with excitement, Nesta mumbled the words meant to summon her sister.

And it worked. Thank the gods, it worked.

Thunder boomed as Feyre winnowed in front of her half a second later, arms extended to attack, a snarl on her face as she surveyed the suddenly uneasy crowd. Not a second later her mate had appeared, a promise of death shining in those violet eyes.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline that was wearing off, or the drug, or the pain that she could now fully register, but when Nesta fell on the ground and darkness embraced her, a small part of her hoped that she would not wake again.

Fate had other plans for her, since Nesta woke the following day.

As soon as she looked into the eyes of her sisters and realisation finally kicked in, Nesta had a panic attack. A strong one, since they decided it would be best for her to put her to sleep for a few more hours, as if sleep could fix anything.

When she awoke the next time, only Feyre was in the room with her.

"Nesta," Feyre whispered, leaning toward her bed. "Are you in any pain?"

An empty feeling in her chest and the unmistakable soreness in the rest of her body, Nesta ignored Feyre's question. She didn't care about that.

"Where is he?"

Feyre's expression turned weary and furious at the same time; in those moments, Nesta couldn't quite decipher her sister's reactions, feeling all too numb to think straight. There was only pain and fear and the shaking that wouldn't stop.

"Don't worry about that now," she said gently, but the fury in her eyes was unmistakable. Of course she knew what happened inside that tent. "Do you need anything? Water, food?"

"Where," she said, voice trembling.

"Nesta, you've been out for almost two days now. You need to drink and eat something. Please, I promise we'll talk about that later--"

Nesta snapped.

Heart thumping inside her chest, she erupted like a volcano; tendrils of darkness sweeping the room, engulfing her, keeping everything and everyone away. And in that sweet, maddening darkness, Nesta remembered every damned thing that happened inside that tent.

Even now, Nesta couldn't forget how horrible the first few days after she woke up were. How fearful Feyre and Elain were, avoiding telling her whatever happened to that Illyrian. But with every second passing and not knowing, Nesta felt like she was losing her mind.

Once the shock of what happened was over and the shaking ceased, Feyre told Nesta that the war lord, Elian, had been dealt with on that day. Still too lost in herself to fully comprehend everything happening around her, Nesta understood only this: it had not been pretty.

After that, Nesta simply nodded and tried to find comfort in the fact that he was dead.

She found little of that.

Every day after that felt like a battle with herself; how ashamed and degraded she felt, the memories still too fresh in her mind, although no physical injuries reminded her of it. The healer, Madja, made sure that none would remain. Feyre and Elain were the only ones who frequently came in to check on her and spend time with her. It was Elain's quiet and reassuring presence that made Nesta feel less frightened, letting her know in subtle ways that what happened was by no means her fault. Feyre, on the other hand, managed to make Nesta talk again by bringing her books and asking her all sorts of questions about the plot and characters. Step by step, Nesta began to answer them.

It was two weeks later that Feyre dared to bring up what happened.

"I won't ask you to talk about it if you don't want to. I just want you to know that you are not alone, and that in time, the fear and horror of it will pass. It won't completely fade away, because you can't erase something like that, but in time, it will hurt less. You're still Nesta, the bravest and strongest person I know. What happened doesn't change any of it."

It was her sister's words that made Nesta want to get out of that bed and begin to pick up the shattered pieces.

She still wasn't ready to leave the confines of her rooms, but she didn't object when Amren visited her. Then Mor. Amren wasn't exactly the most compassionate person out there, but her steady presence and talk of magic grounded her. Mor, who understood the effects of abuse, told her all about her own experience with Eris and her parents.

"The scars run deep, and they never fade away," she said. "But they're also a reminder that not even the most heinous crimes can break us. Don't let what happened dictate the rest of your life. Don't give him that satisfaction."

A month after that, Nesta began spending her time on the balcony attached to her rooms, the place where she currently was. The House of Wind became the residence of her sisters and Mor, who made it their job to spend as much time there as possible, reminding her that she wasn't alone.

A month and a week later, when Nesta was reading a rather dull book, hushed voices caught her attention.

The sudden panic and shame that washed over her felt all too familiar. This was what she had been avoiding since it happened; interacting with any males, especially a particular one.

"Leave before she knows you're here," Feyre whispered in a firm tone. "This isn't a good time."

"It's been well over a month, Feyre, since I last saw her. I need to see her."

"Cassian, you'll only make this worse. She barely leaves her room. I don't think she's eager to be in the presence of any male anytime soon."

Clutching the book close to her chest, Nesta leaned over the door, listening to their banter.

"It's killing me, damn it, and you know that very well," Cassian seethed. "When you brought her here and I saw..." he made a pause, at loss for words. "When I saw her, Feyre, I felt fury and fear like never before. I thought I would die right there. When I saw Madja wiping the blood of that bastard off of her and how badly she was shaking, unconscious and all. When she woke up and had that panic attack. Just... just let me try. Please."

His voice broke when be said "please", and Nesta thought that she would, too. For the first time in weeks, she felt something other than numbness.

Before Feyre had a chance to reply, Nesta opened the door to her room, making both of them nearly jump out of their skins. Feyre looked panicked, like she was in the middle of a robbery, while Cassian...  
Cassian's rage simmered down at once, turning into relief and shock. As if he didn't expect this to happen.

Honestly, neither did she.

"It's okay, Feyre," Nesta managed to say. "He can come in."

Leaving the door ajar, Nesta went to the balcony and sat in her armchair, draping a blanket over her shaking legs.

_Breathe, breathe, breathe. It's okay. You can do this. It's only Cassian._

But it was exactly that which made it even more difficult. It was Cassian who she dreaded to face more than anyone else.

He slowly stepped inside her room, leaving the door wide open, eyes on her like she might bolt at any moment. Nesta didn't look at him, finding the cover of her book much more interesting.

When he took one uneasy step towards her, Nesta swallowed hard.

"Nes," he said, voice unsteady. "Can... Can I come out there?"

She nodded, grasping the ends of the book so hard that her knuckles turned white. Cassian stepped outside and, with untypical nervousness, sat down in the armchair that was farthest from her, yet right in front of hers, so she might observe his every move.

It had been a miracle that Nesta didn't actually run away, especially when Cassian looked worse than she felt. Stubble covered his chiseled cheeks and the dark half-moons under his eyes indicated the lack of sleep. His hair, longer than she remembered, was messily wrapped in a bun and his flying leathers were replaced by normal clothes. Nesta couldn't remember the last time Cassian wore normal clothes.

He looked... defeated.

"I was the one that killed him," he said, looking down at his hands. "Feyre told me not to talk about it, about... what happened, and I'm not going to if you don't want to, but I just wanted you to know that I killed him, and I took my time doing it."

Nesta raised her head a bit, daring to glance at him.

"Good."

The fact that he was dead brought her solace. Perhaps she should've been the one to do it, but to know that Cassian was the one who delivered his death meant that it was by no means merciful.

"Please look at me," he breathed.

"I can't," was all she could say.

"Why? Nesta, you're safe now. I promise I won't let anything bad happen to you again. I'm... I'm so, so sorry that I failed you when it mattered most."

Nesta squezzed her hands together under the blanket. Oh, how wrong he was. Nesta didn't blame him in the least; not when she knew that he had been transporting supplies in other camps. He wasn't at fault.

"I don't blame you for any of it," she said, moving her vision to the horizon. "Please don't, either."

"Then why did you shut me out?"

 _Why didn't you let me help you?_ was the unsaid question.

Nesta swallowed the knot in her throat, tears brimming in the corner of her eyes.

"Because I'm still ashamed of what happened, and I still have nightmares every night. I feel like I'm suffocating every time I look in the mirror. I feel dirty and sick. No matter how much I try to tell myself otherwise, he took a part of me that I will never get back."

It was the most she said about what happened that day. Talking about it with the girls was one thing, but with Cassian, the one who saw more than the others in her... It was hard to properly breathe, let alone sort through her thoughts.

Cassian shifted closer, probably wanting to reach her, but as soon as Nesta'a eyes went wide and her book fell from her hands, he froze.

Gods, this was hell. This was worse than hell, actually.

Cassian's voice was taunt when he said "I'm sorry, I-I didn't... Gods, why am I such an idiot."

Damning herself, Nesta made herself look at him. Truly look at him.

There was such pain on that beautiful face, and yet so much relief when their eyes locked. Nesta noticed with no amount of joy that a few tears escaped from his eyes, running down his cheeks.

"You have me, you know that, don't you?" he said softly, as if unsure of himself. "I-I understand that probably the presence of a male is the last thing you need or wish, but I'm not going to turn my back on you and leave you to get alone through this. You don't have to be alone anymore. I swear to you, Nesta, that I'll do whatever it takes to help you overcome this. No matter what, I'm here."

Nesta didn't dare wipe her own tears, or try to stop the visible shaking of her hands.

"And don't you dare feel ashamed for something that was not your fault. You're the same Nesta that I would gladly lay my life down for, the same fierce woman with a heart too big for her chest. I don't think any differently of you. No one does."

She wrapped the blanket tighter around her, needing the pressure to calm her thumping heart.

Nesta had been scared of facing Cassian because she wouldn't have been able to look at him and see pity in his eyes. But now that she looked at him, the first person she managed to maintain eye-contact without wanting to hide under a rock, Nesta realised she had been wrong. There was no pity to be found in those eyes.

Only strength, and the promise of a better tomorrow.

When she remained quiet for too long, Cassian made to stand up and leave.

"Do you... Do you want to stay for a while longer? The sunsets are so beautiful up here."

He tried to hide the sigh of relief, but Nesta heard it nonetheless. "Of course I want. Let me fetch you another blanket."

And that had been that for their first meeting. Nesta let Cassian spent his evenings on that balcony with her, both of them doing different things, barely talking. Well, she barely talked; once Cassian noticed that her uneasiness began to waver little by little, he told her about the latest affairs in the court and his training sessions with the younglings. Apparently, all Cassian did the past few weeks was to train, train and train again. He didn't exactly tell her that, but apparently it was his way of coping with what happened to her. Nesta listened to everything he said, rarely looking up from her books. Cassian didn't seem fazed by that; he cleaned and sharpened his weapons while he talked to her, then borrowed books from her own library to read. Then, step by step, managed to look at him with as much easiness as before, and an old spark rekindled.

And that's how things had been since then.

Nesta began taking walks in the cold woods outside the House, sometimes accompanied by her sisters, sometimes by Cassian, sometimes alone. Amren showed up daily for practice. Mor came every two days and they winnowed in the city, walking along the Rainbow at sunset, admiring the exquisite view, watching the artists paint, listening to the musicians serenade. Little by little, Nesta managed to be surrounded by people and not have any panic attacks. It became easier.

And yet, there was one thing she could not manage to do.

Every time someone touched her, even her sisters, Nesta flinched and yelped hard enough that she felt embarrassed. Which is why everyone avoided physical contact with her; grateful as she was, it made her feel like she was a porcelain doll.

It was Rhysand who understood that feeling better than everyone. He told her that he went through the same thing with Amarantha, and managing to overcome that was by no means easy, but he had help. He had Feyre.

Which was his subtle way of telling Nesta to let Cassian help her.

The booming of wings snapped her back to reality, and Nesta looked to the horizon, seeing a pair of mighty wings approach her balcony. As usual, Cassian had come.

But this would not be an usual evening.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 _I will show you the way back home_  
_Never leave you all alone_  
_I will stay until the morning comes_  
_I’ll show you how to live again_  
_And heal the brokenness within_  
_Let me love you when you come undone_

  
Cassian landed a few feet away from Nesta, ready for their daily walk in the woods, and almost lost his balance.

She was smiling.

Not a wide smile, but bright and real enough that his feet threatened to give out and make him fall at her feet. It was the first one she gave him since _that_ happened.

Cassian called it " _that_ " because the word " _rape_ " made his blood boil and it would throw him into another pit of despair. He had enough of that.

So many sleepless nights when all Cassian could do was remember Nesta's tear-streaked face as she lay unconscious on that bed as Madja did her best to clean her up and mend her injuries, then her desolate cries as she woke up and all hell broke loose. His brothers had to pull him out of that house by force; his every instinct was screaming at him to get there, stand by her side, soothe her, protect her. But it was too late for that, wasn't it?

So he did the next best thing he could.

He ended that bastard's life. It had not been pretty or fast. His screams had been like music to his ears.

Yet no matter how much he prayed that she'd try to get out and ask for help -- not necessarily from him, but from anyone -- that never happened. Only his sisters were there for her, and then Amren and Mor. Never him.

Ignoring the protests of basically everyone, Cassian began to spend the nights in a guest room in the House of Wind. It was far enough from Nesta's that she never felt his presence, but he was there, just in case. Ready to protect or comfort her at any time.

And when she finally did allow him in... It still made him quiver with rage and pain. How frail and hopeless she looked, how empty her voice was. The shaking and fear whenever he moved too suddenly. The embarrassment that followed soon after, thinking that it was something she could control; Cassian knew it wasn't true. Not once did he blame Nesta for her behaviour, since it was expected. The shock was still there, along with the fear or being hurt again or taken by surprise.

Cassian swore to himself that no matter how long it would take him or how difficult it would be, he would help her overcome this. He would make her see that none of it was her fault, and that to him, she was a miracle for everything she's had to endure with her head held high.

And they have come so far.

"Someone looks a little eager for a walk in the cold," he said in a tight voice.

Holy crap. She was actually smiling. Nesta was smiling.

"I had another idea."

Eyebrows raised in question, Cassian patiently waited for her answer. It was obvious that something happened if she appeared so at ease and almost herself again. His chest tightened with emotion, and could barely contain his own excitement.

Finally, a silver of hope. After all these months.

"Let's go to the city. It's been some time since I last flew."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Cassian't didn't hide the shock from his face.

Flying.

With him.

That meant...

"You... You want me to fly us down to the city?"

That meant that Nesta felt ready to let someone touch her. And not just someone...

_Him._

Nesta rolled her eyes. "Yes, Cassian. I don't plan on jumping."

"Nesta, you know what I mean."

Humour aside, Cassian had no intention of pushing Nesta to do something she didn't feel ready to do. There were several incidents when Nesta lost it when someone touched her, accidentally or not. Especially the males. Rhys and Az always kept a respectful distance away, both of them understanding the grave effects of abuse. And though Nesta allowed Cassian to be closer to her than anyone, he never made to touch her. He wouldn't cross that boundary, not unless she specifically asked him to.

And now, she was asking him exactly that.

Shifting on her feet, Nesta shrugged. There was finally some colour in her cheeks, which were no longer gaunt from the lack of food. The fire in her eyes was slowly returning to life.

"I can't live the rest of my life afraid of touching or being touched by someone. I need to do this, and you're the only one I want to start trying with."

Silence.

Trying to wrap the words around his mind, Cassian stared straight into Nesta's eyes, trying to see if she was truly honest and that there was no trace of fear in her words or scent.

There was none. Only nervousness, which would be expected of someone who's avoided physical contact for so long. Nesta started right back at him, holding her own, sending him a silent message: _I want to do this, but I don't know how. Help me._

His knees threatened to buckle under him.

Heart thumping in his chest, Cassian took a step closer to her. Then another. Their eyes were locked, and Cassian knew it was so much easier to read her emotions than have her tell him. For all her love of books and words, Nesta was never really good with them. She was better at showing how she felt or what she thought.

"Are you sure about this? Don't put pressure on yourself, Nes. We all do things at our own pace. You have all the time in the world."

_And that bastard doesn't. You're safe now._

Nesta swallowed and moved closer to him, showing him that she meant it.

"I'm as sure as I'll ever be. And..." she took in a shaky breath, gripping the edges of her tunic. "And I know that it may not be easy and I might still panic but I know you won't judge me for it or look at me with pity in your eyes. I trust you, Cass. More than anyone."

Nesta offered him her hand, and without thinking, Cassian took it.

 

* * *

 

  
Nesta expected waves of nausea, discomfort or even another panic attack, but as she stared into Cassian's warm and comforting eyes, so full of love and glee, all she felt was nervousness. Finally, after all this time. She could do it.

Not daring to move, Nesta shuddered as Cassian ran his thumb up and down her skin, gripping her hand gently into his.

"You have no idea how proud I am of you right now," he declared with a soft smile. "And overjoyed."

Nesta's lips arched on their own accord as she moved closer to him.

_It's okay, it's only Cass. I'm safe. I'm well. He would never hurt me._

And despite telling herself similar things whenever she was in close proximity with anyone else, this time her mind listened. It always felt natural for Nesta to be in Cassian's presence; she supposed everyone else felt the same way, since he radiated happiness and optimism. Cassian was good with people. She, on the other hand, wasn't.

But that only intrigued him more, she supposed.

"You deserve some credit for it. Now fly us down."

There was still some wariness in his eyes as he made to place his free hand on the back of Nesta's back. She made herself stay as still as possible, controlling her every breath, steadying her heartbeat.

_Breathe, breathe. Slow and steady. Don't panic over nothing._

Her mind listened and didn't go into panic mode when Cassian placed his hand on her back, then the other under her knees. With a shaky hand, Nesta's own arm went over his neck for full support and when he finally picked her up, she could swear they were both panting.

"Is this okay? Do you want me to put you down?" Cassian asked, searching her face for answers.

"No, don't," she said, already eyeing the city for distraction. "I'm alright. Now fly."

Cassian's wings extended and they were airborne in no time. Soaring high and then low, catching the coldest winds, diving straight through the puffiest clouds that made Nesta less tense in Cassian's secure arms. His grip was light enough, but as they descended towards the city that was slowly welcoming the night, Nesta's shaking ceased completely.

Finally, she said to her mind, who was so tired from all the pain and fear. Finally, I can do it.

_Finally, I can begin putting back the pieces myself._

 

* * *

 

The night went on by faster than Nesta would've thought. They walked by the Rainbow in silence, and from time to time people greeted the both of them, welcoming them in their shops or offering them free goods. Nesta mostly kept to herself, although she always greeted them back with a small smile that apparently did the trick. When one vendor offered Nesta a box of chocolates and she hesitated long enough for the male to appear confused, Cassian popped in and took it for her, thanking the male at the same time. It was the same with any other male or female who offered her anything. When the street dances and other performances begun and the streets were piling up, Cassian's hand found Nesta's and led her through some empty alleys until they reached the banks of Sidra. It was near the woods, the water lapping at the shore, moonlight glazing its shiny surface.

They had been staying on that shore for well over an hour, hand in hand, gazing at the colourful city before them. It was so much more beautiful from down here than from the House of Wind.

"Nesta?"

"Hmm?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Very funny. But not this. I... I took some time off and wanted to know if it's alright with you if I stay in the House? I don't really want to listen in on Rhys and Feyre every morning."

Nesta's eyebrows arched as she turned towards him. Cassian, as usual, misinterpreted the gesture.

"But if you don't want me there then that's fine, totally alright by me, I can stay there or at Amren's if--"

"Of course you can. It's your house too, Cassian. And I highly doubt Amren would even let you sleep on her doorstep, let alone her apartment."

Relieved, Cassian laughed. "True. Last time I visited she threw a book after ten minutes and told me I "overstayed my welcome". A real charmer."

"I guess it's understandable, since you tend to be so damn loud and can never stay put."

His mouth hung open as he looked down at himself.

"Whatever do you mean by that? I'm as still as a corpse right now! And I'm--" he lowered his voice significantly, "I'm not loud at all!"

Nesta tipped her head back and laughed. Truly laughed. It felt so foreign and good that her chest tightened from missing it so damn much.

"Gods, I missed that."

"Missed what?" she asked, still laughing.

"You laughing. And not just that. I missed you altogether."

Cassian seemed to regret his confession only a second later, but before he could say anything else, Nesta squeezed his hand and turned fully towards him.

"I missed you too," she admitted. "Thank you, by the way. For helping me through all of it."

"There's nothing to thank me for, Nes. I will always help you, no matter what."

It was all she could do not to hug him and refrain from any further physical contact. Although her heart wanted to, her brain made her frozen and motionless, telling her that it was still too soon, too much. It made her uneasy.

"Don't push yourself," he told her, most probably sensing her strong emotions. "What you managed to accomplish today is extraordinary. Let's do baby steps."

Strong and steady, that's what Cassian was. The perfect rhythm that her heart could follow no matter what. There was a speck of light in the darkness, and it promised so much more than that.

"Baby steps," she agreed.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

_When daybreak seems so far away_   
_Reach for my hand_   
_When hope and peace begin to fray_   
_Still I will stand_

 

It had been three weeks since Cassian moved back in his old room (although Nesta was a bit suspicious when she found some of his clothes in a guest bedroom in the farthest wing of the House) and two since they had begun training together.

 _Hellish_ was putting it lightly. Nesta lashed out at him when he went easy -- way too easy -- on her and apparently he took that to the heart, because the following day Nesta could barely walk back to her room and almost fell asleep on the floor. Cassian woke her every morning at sunrise, trained together and when she was absolutely exhausted from the workout, he would let her get away from the evening workout and instead cook her something.

She had been careful to abuse his skills in the kitchen.

Training was also the perfect method of helping her overcome her trauma. The nightmares never ceased and the fear was always there, in the back of her mind, but if there was one thing Nesta was getting pretty good at, it was physical contact.

At first it had been pretty rough for Nesta. She obviously couldn't keep up with Cassian, who was a born and bred warrior, but his patient demeanour and jokes made it easier for her. Every time Nesta did a wrong move, Cassian would show it to her again and again, and when it was obvious that she couldn't perfectly imitate him, he showed her exactly how and when to move her body by direct contact.

Cassian always backed away when he sensed that Nesta became uneasy or panicked, but in time, that happened less and less. Her heart didn't threaten to burst out of her chest whenever his hand lingered on her arm or leg. While Cassian cooked Nesta usually did anything else but that, although there was occasions when she would sit on the counter and watch him, maybe even hand him ingredients if she was feeling generous enough. One week ago, Cassian showed Nesta how to properly stir the eggs by guiding her hand while he stood behind her, a hand placed lightly on her hip, and she wasn't even fazed by it.

When they weren't spending their evenings in the city centre or at the theatre, the two of them would lay on the plush sofa by the fire and talk or read or polish or make weapons. Nesta was particularly proud of her arrows. One such night, while Cassian was almost asleep and a dagger threatened to fall out of his hands and plunge into his thigh, Nesta sat next to him, put a pillow in her lap and told him that he could take a nap until she finished her chapter. Cassian didn't even comply; that's how tired he was. It was purely instinctual when her hand wound up in his hair and played with it while she read, a comforting gesture that only made him smile like an idiot. Needless to say, Nesta finished the whole book and also fell asleep with him there.

"Do you believe in fate?" she had asked Cassian the previous night, while they were staring at the night sky and drinking hot tea. "Do you think some things are meant to happen?"

Cassian scrunched his nose and it made him look so adorably young and confused that Nesta thought she'd laugh out loud.

"I think some things are meant to happen, yes, to test us. See if they break or build us. If we're meant to go further or not. But I also believe that we can ignore all of these signs and decide on our own what we want to do with our lives. We can't fully control them, so why live in fear of the unknown? Why not make the most of it?"

"Perhaps some things shouldn't be completely ignored," Nesta said, glancing at him. "Perhaps they were brought into our lives for a reason."

"And let me guess, we have to find out the reason on our own."

Nesta smirked. "Life would be a bit boring if we had all the answers, Cass. I know your patience is the same as a toddler's, but searching for answers and meaning can be better. We can change our own reality this way."

Cassian leaned back into his armchair and smiled at the stars, crossing arms over his chest.

"I think our paths were meant to cross. This, I'm sure of. And I'm just as sure that I don't want to change this reality or search for any more answers. This is so much more better than any other possibility."

"And I think you may have misplaced the tea with some hard liquor, because you remind me a lot of drunk Cassian," Nesta chuckled, despite the butterflies in her stomach.

"Sweetheart, you wouldn't be able to handle drunk Cassian."

"Apparently the Summer Court couldn't, either. Isn't that exactly what their letter of interdiction said?"

"Now that's just mean. Rhys, Feyre and Amren got blood rubies and no one is making fun of them."

"Perhaps because they were trying to steal an artefact that would protect our lands?" Nesta said dryly.

Cassian waved a nonchalant hand. "Surely a cover story. I'm sure they wrecked some stuff, too. No one gets blood rubies just for petty theft."

As wonderful as that evening had been, Nesta's mind decided to take a turn while she was asleep and force her to re-live some of her most dreaded experiences.

The Cauldron was as cold and murky as ever. Eternal darkness, a pit of agony that brought up all of Nesta's horrible and petty mistakes of her teen years. Different outcomes of many conflicts. Dreams so lucid that she thought them to be true, if only for a moment. It showed her how hollow and bitter this life made her; how they all turned their backs on her as soon as they found their happiness. No one, not even Elain, remained with her. All alone, in that cold, familial darkness where she belonged.

Then the Cauldron turned into a tent, and the darkness caught the shape of a bed. Screams rang in her ears, though her lips were sewn together. All she could see was the face of the male who tilted her entire world. Who stole something that could never be restored.

The pain didn't seem like an illusion, and it stopped feeling like one. It was happening all over again, the hands on her naked body, the pain and fear, the hopelessness and dread. Nesta couldn't move or say anything as her rapist reached for the exact same knife she used to stab him and point its tip over her naked chest, right above her heart, and plunge it.

"Nesta, Nesta, listen to me. It's not real. You're safe now. It's all over. Please, please wake up. Please look at me, my love. I'm here."

The face of Elian distorted, turning into one that was as dear to her as the Sun. Wide, panic eyes found hers as strong hands shook her awake, even as her mind couldn't fully make out what was real or not, even as the knife and the pain didn't seem like a trick of her mind. Part of it wasn't.

The only thing she was certain of was that someone was holding her. A male was holding her.

"Stop it, stop it, let go, get off of me!" she screamed again and again.

A voice whispered that she was safe, but how could she be sure? Maybe it was happening all over again, and the hands that held her down back then were not gentle. They ruined her.

Nesta pushed and trashed and yelled until the arms were no longer around her. Only when she could hear her own sobs did Nesta realise that she was awake, blinking multiple times to survey the havoc she'd caused.

Her bed, a mess of half-darkened sheets and ripped pillows. The tilted paintings on the wall. Books thrown across the room. And right at the edge of the very same bed she was in, looking just as frightened and in pain as she was, sat Cassian, arms raised in surrender.

"Cass?" Nesta whispered in a broken voice. "What... What did I do?"

_Did I hurt you?_

"It's okay, Nesta. You had a nightmare. It's over."

_Is it?_

While her chest felt like it had been ripped apart and her mind was foggy with details of her nightmares, Nesta could think of only one thing: Cassian pulled her out of it. And she'd shoved him away.

She looked him up and down, making sure he was alright, that she didn't accidentally hurt him in any way because even the thought of causing him any sort harm--

Cassian slowly shook his head. "I'm okay. I'm fine. You didn't hurt me or anyone. I heard your sobs and when I came here..." his voice turned wobbly, unsure. "I'm sorry that I held you like that. I just didn't know what else to do, and I was scared that you'd lose it. I'm sorry."

Nesta closed her eyes, forcing her tears back. It was hard to even try to speak, so instead of saying anything, she crawled on the ruined bed until she reached Cassian, took both his hands in hers and put them around her.

Still at first, Cassian complied when Nesta laid her head on his chest and hugged him.

"Don't let go."

Cassian laid back on the bed frame and held her close in response. His heart beat so damn fast that it was a miracle it didn't stop altogether.

"Never."

Minutes passed and the horror of it didn't completely rub off. Neither did the shaking or silent tears. She despised it, despised him for messing up not only her body but also her mind. For putting her through something that no woman should ever have to go through.

"You're alright, Nesta. It's over. Just breathe."

She tried to control her sobbing, she really did. Cassian's arms around her didn't falter; he only held her tighter, murmuring words of comfort, running his hand up and down her cold back in order to soothe her.

"I-I'm sorry," she managed to say, throat raw from all the crying.

Head still resting on his chest, Nesta slowly stopped shaking like a leaf enough for Cassian to calm down a bit. His worry was unmistakable. None of them moved, though. The pressure of his arms around her anchored her.

"Don't," he whispered, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "It's not like you asked for it. I'm sorry you still get nightmares."

Nesta wiped her wet cheeks and hugged her knees to her chest.

"You're here now, so it's better."

"So you don't hate me for barging in?" his tone was slightly amused, not sure if it was alright to even attempt to make her smile.

"I could never hate you, try as I might."

Nesta stared at her library, at the overthrown books and wondered just how catastrophic her powers could be under the influence of her nightmares. It was better if she didn't find out the answer to that question anytime soon.

"I was in the Cauldron at first. It showed me my miserable teen life and how bitter I used to be. How cruelly I treated those around me."

Cassian didn't say a word, though his hand on her back stilled.

"And then I was back again in that tent," she said in an even voice, though a few tears escaped her eyes.

"Nes, you don't have to tell me," Cassian said.

There was such pain in those words, in his heart. It was easy to feel it.

But Nesta needed to tell him this; needed to open herself up completely in order to let go.

"I was back again in that tent," she continued, "and it happened all over again. He raped me and I couldn't fight back. I couldn't get out of there. And then... Then he took the exact same knife I used to free myself and plunged it into my heart."

_He killed me in my dreams, but he was the dead one when I woke up._

_I am alive._

_I should be living, not mourning._

_Live your life, Nesta. Don't spend it looking back at the past. There's nothing good for you there._

_Live._

She squeezed her eyes shut again. "I'm done. I'm done suffering and staying in the dark. I'm so, so done."

"You've come so far already. You pulled yourself together and didn't quit. I'm sorry you even had to, but I'm proud of you, Nesta."

A small smile adorned her face; a silver of light in the darkened sky.

"Promise you won't leave?"

Cassian kissed the top of her head, then tilted her chin enough so he could look into her eyes.

"You're my heart, my whole soul. I could never leave you. Not even if you kick me out and banish me forever."

"Good to know you're in for the long run," she observed, smiling in earnest.

Cassian's eyes fell on her lips, her smile, and replicated it in no time. Though his always seemed far more dreamy and broad, as if it was his intention to snatch away someone's attention with such a small gesture.

"Of course I am. And it's a good thing I'm not a quitter, either."

 

* * *

 

For the first time in months, Nesta slept.

And for the first time in her life, Nesta slept in the arms of the person closest to her soul, the one who taught her the meaning of home.

Arms and legs entwined, the fear of being touched forgotten when it was his and his touch alone, Nesta and Cassian gave in to their weariness and slept well past morning. Though Nesta was aware that he fell asleep much later after her, because the gentle strokes of her hair and feather-light fingers running up and down her arms and neck made her not want to sleep at all.

But when she finally did, there were no nightmares to welcome her back.

No dark illusions of her past.

No misery.

When she awoke the next morning and watched through heavy eyelashes the chiselled face that brought out the best and worst in her, Nesta thought she might actually be dreaming. In what reality was she deserving of this? Of him?

Not daring to move too much and wake him too, Nesta scooted closer to Cassian and draped an arm over his torso. Perhaps a few more hours of sleep would do her good. They both deserved it.

The arm that was already around her tightened and Cassian pulled her impossibly close to him, then mumbled a bunch of nonsense. Nesta bit her lip and tried her best not to laugh.

Fate must've played a part in all of this and brought them together. It sure did, otherwise there was no other way to explain the tether between their souls, an ancient, solid thing.

"You're my heart, too," Nesta confessed before falling asleep once again.

 


End file.
